Thirst was getting to Oliver. In the presence of the passengers, he was short and impatient. More than once she noticed the cords of his neck convulsing as if he was swallowing down saliva. In the privacy of their room, she could almost forget her observations in the pleasure of his company.

  To cross the Atlantic took four days, plus a day for boarding and disembarking. By the end of the second day, she knew she couldn’t ignore it anymore. Oliver was suffering.

  After the heated discussion in Chicago, Estella didn’t broach the topic of hunting again. Since finding her in Oregon, Oliver made the change to his diet so he could stay with her. It had been simple, considering how little they went out there – the road without temptation was an easy one indeed. But abstinence was not the same as safety.

  She tried to approach the topic now, laying in his arms. “Oliver, maybe you need to find someone.”

  He frowned; crevices appeared on his forehead. “You want to me to…” His voice drifted off for a moment. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “You should go hunting.”

  He stiffened. “No.”

  “But ---”

  “I will kill them, Estella.” He spoke over her head. “I will kill them.”

  Yes, well, that is normally a part of it, she wanted to say, but that wouldn’t exactly be reassuring. “Older vampires didn’t have to kill their prey and neither do you. You just need more experience.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t any other way to get it.

  He snorted. “Experience that leaves a trail of dead bodies.”

  That was the end of the conversation under the next morning in the dining hall when she finally gave voice to her fears for the other passengers. Oliver’s throat never relaxed, his jaw remained tense, and his lips were pulled back slight, as if he was fighting himself not to show teeth. He was going to kill someone regardless of if he stayed this course.

  Over the day, she thought about what she could do to help. She considered offering herself up, but her blood wouldn’t sate him. Or she was fairly certain it wouldn’t. For a fleeting moment, she pictured hunting a human in a way to trap Oliver, but that felt too deceptive after months of living honestly together. A kind of betrayal and regression she didn’t want to invite into their relationship.

  There was one final option and it disturbed her as much as her second idea how little the thought bothered her. She could help him hunt. Stop him before it was too late for the victim.

  She waited until it was dark to bring it up. She offered herself first, mostly in fairness for what would come later.

  Oliver reacted how she anticipated: with a flat-out refusal. “Never suggest that again, please.” She was selfish enough to admit that she was relieved.

  Sitting opposite him in their small room, she fidgeted with the arm rest threads. The fabric was pilling.

  “Honestly, Estella. I am managing it. I promise. No one will get hurt on this ship.”

  Taking a deep breath, she braced herself. “And what happens when you stop managing it, Oliver? How long do you truly believe you can keep leaning away from people in the dining hall? Or in line? Or God, when we are squished like sardines at Customs?”

  He turned away from her, but she knew that his eyes were dangerously reflective and dark in the low light. He was a predator on the hunt, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

  “What is better, Oliver? Going now when you can be merciful? Or later when you will ravenously give over to nature?”

  Sinking onto the bed, he held his head in his hands. “I know what you want, Estella! I am trying to be the man your family will be proud you brought home. The man that can fit into your witch heritage.”

  Oh, Oliver! She wished desperately to have her family again. Not for herself now, but for him. They would be more comforting than she could be in this situation. Standing slowly, she cautiously closed the distance between them and leaned on her knees in front of him. She gripped his hands in her own and pulled them away from his face to reveal pained eyes. She hadn’t realized this had been troubling him.

  “I want to be what you need, Estella.” He said softly.

  “You are what I need, Oliver. You are loving and supportive and you listen when I rant about time and follow me foolishly into a borderline warzone. But maybe I haven’t been what you need back.”

  “No, Estella, that’s not---”

  “Shh. Listen. I’ve been selfish. I needed to be selfish. Thank you for giving me the freedom to be so. But now, it is your turn. Let me help you hunt.”

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  He groaned. “Help me hunt? Estella, no.”

  “Have you ever not killed someone hunting?” She pressed. “I’ve heard it is very hard to stop, especially when you’re young.”

  “I’m hardly fresh-faced.”

  “Oliver, you’re an infant. To some, even less. A mere speck in your mother’s eye.”

  “You realize that makes you an infant too.”

  She smiled at him, “Why do you think I keep bumbling around? Besides, I’m positive it takes at least two infant vampires to stop the death of one human.”

  “What will your family think?”

  It was a hard question, but one with an easy answer. “They do not matter. Not in this. Not in taking care of you.”

  There is no other to describe Oliver’s reaction to her other than it was like he melted. His head, held so stiffly between her hands, relaxed into her like a purring cat. His shoulders, once tense, collapsed, bringing his whole body forward.

  She couldn’t not meet him there, moving her arms to drape over his shoulders, pulling him into her. He spoke quietly, muffled against her collar bone. “We will go tonight. After dinner.”

  ____

  They were the last to arrive in the dining hall. War hadn’t graced the lives of most of the individuals aboard the ship. The few scared, stunned, or blank faces stared at the indulgent revelers, these were left unobserved by Oliver and Estella.

  There were a group of Americans drinking and merrymaking loudly in the center of the room. Those were who Oliver set his sights on, if only because they were obnoxious.

  Never truly gone hunting, Estella didn’t realize how boring it was to sit and wait for an opportunity. They needed someone alone, and preferably intoxicated enough that the alcohol would cause doubt over the night before if the magic of the bite failed.

  The time finally came near midnight. The dining options closed hours ago, but the bar area had remained open much longer. The Americans had migrated to the darker part of the room, soon partitioned off, throwing the place into long shadows.

  With them, Estella followed. Oliver waited in the crannies of the hallway. Without him by her side, she felt uncertain of what was doing. This is what vampirism is: the perpetual violation of another person’s autonomy. A cycle of victim-perpetrator that few vampires ever escaped from.

  As she swirled the red wine in her glass, thinking about the woes and cruelties of countless unknown vampires, she felt deep gratitude to her family for allowing her to grow up free from these harsh realities. Her own tragic run-ins had been enough.

  But now she was stepping into that cycle and doing so willingly. What her family would think, or her grandparents, didn’t matter. Not with Oliver. She felt that conviction so resolutely, so completely that it spurned her next moves. Isolating an American should be simple, a trick of the ambience would lure one of the more inebriated men out.

  She focused on the undrunk win in her glass. On its sweet scent like seductive perfume, its red so deep it would complement a pair of lips in a pale face nicely. The mirage conjured easily from the shadows as the low lights flickered at the loss of energy. A poorly formed thing, but effective nonetheless as one of the men did take notice of the mysterious woman. He watched it slip from the room like an alcoholic savoring the last drop gliding over their tongue. He downed his glass, then excused himself from the room.

  Following him, Estella observed in the image in the hallway dancing between shadows before it disappeared into a storage closet. Like pollen carried by a honeybee, the American went straight to the comb.

  When the man opened the cubby, it wasn’t the woman he’d hoped for who greeted him, but Oliver, tense, thirsty, and annoyed by this man’s behavior over the past three days.

  Estella stepped into the tight space after Oliver had already subdued him, his knees collapsed as Oliver held him by the head in a steel grasp. It reminded her of The Kiss, the total enthrallment of the two. She wasn’t certain how to stop him from killing the man, but that she could hear the American’s ragged breathing was a good sign. She let Oliver drag on him like a cigarette, listening as his gasps turned to soft sighs and low moans. When he went truly quiet, she intervened, putting a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.

  At her touch, he jumped, crouching over his prey protectively. She flinched away before clenching down on her muscles, cursing herself. In this state, Oliver could be triggered so easily to protect his meal. Instead of lunging at her, however, he relaxed.

  “Estelle,” he breathed gruffly, sounding little better than the man did moments before. He swallowed convulsively, the blood and saliva coated his mouth, his teeth. She could see the unnatural color of his tongue. She did not move. This was a side of vampires she was not used to seeing and she did not know how to act.

  For the first, she felt afraid of Oliver. Will the window of attention he’s given her snap shut on her neck? Was her heartbeat now an attractive option in the frenzy of the feast?

  But Oliver continued to surprise her. Staying low, he scooted around her still form until he was behind her. It was the most space he could put between the American and himself in the closet.

  “I’m done, Estella. Can you…” She understood.

  “I am going to check on him now.”

  With intentional slowness, she approached the unconscious man. He appeared to be soundly asleep, a pleasant smile on his lips. The bite on his neck was not subtle from Oliver’s starved onslaught and surprised retreat.

  Not clean, but not unfixable either. Vampire bites are made to virtually disappear. This one might just need some help. Using her thumb, Estella forcefully rubbed over the wound, using the blood and magic to first seal, then conceal it. Unlike her, this man was too old and not magical enough to worry about a mixed transformation.

  Job done, she looked at her bloody thumb. Uninterested in the drops herself, but savagely curious, she offered it to Oliver. After a long, quiet pause, and a devilish look in his eyes, he took her thumb in his mouth and sucked.

  Suddenly flushed, Estella was ready to be done with the man and the cubby. He’d wake up in a few hours confused and hungover before he promptly returned to his cabin to sleep the rest of the night off.

  Together, she and Oliver walked the silent hallways back to their room. The way was awkward, the hot atmosphere of the tight room displaced by the cold reality of the hallway. Upon arrival, Oliver immediately made to depart, not even crossing the threshold.

  Estella caught his hand. “You’re not staying?”

  “I didn’t think you would want me too after… I turned on you the way that I did.”

  “You mean rudely looking at the person who disturbed your meal then promptly relaxing when you saw it was me?”

  “I scared you.”

  “Yes, I was afraid for a moment, but you only re-affirmed my faith in you. I know what I was choosing when I talked into tonight. I was choosing you, Oliver.”

  Swiftly, his head swooped down to catch her lips. She met him willingly as they stepped together into the room, shutting the door behind them.